


2 Antichrist 2 Apocalypse

by madasahatter (gaytriangle)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young is a Menace, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Canon Compliant, Character Growth, Crowley is Raphael (Good Omens), Drabble, Fluff, Getting Together, Humour, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Somewhere, dumb specific naming conventions, ish, self care is stealing a baby, they can stand alone but there is a plot, you know you do, you want to see crowley holding a baby like an atomic bomb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/madasahatter
Summary: Nine months after the original not-pocalpyse, Heaven and Hell try again. Crowley and Aziraphale rush to the baby swap, but things go a little bit wonky, as they are wont to do. Armed with a baby and their questionable wits, can the team stop the apocalypse - again?~‘Okay,’ said Aziraphale. ‘We take the spare baby, we raise her, and when her replacement hits eleven and goes to end the world, then what?’‘At eleven,’ said Crowley, ‘we will have come up with a better plan.’
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 12





	2 Antichrist 2 Apocalypse

Crowley wakes up in a dead sweat, The Night Of. He wakes up in a dead sweat, sits dead upright, and promptly feels ridiculous. He is a snake. Why is he sweating? But then he feels the pulse again - _family_ , it sings in his blood. He lets out a strangled scream. It has been eleven years and nine months, you see, since Crowley had felt this ringing in his soul, this tug on his wings. A fallen angel has had a child with a human, and there’s only one that’d be powerful enough to tug at him, asleep in his bed. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale is shaking his shoulder. By the tightness in his grip, he’s been doing so for awhile. Oh, drat, he hoped he hadn’t been screaming. 

“It’s happened again!” He bit out, award that his voice was raspier than usual. Probably had screamed, then. Bother. 

“What has, dear?” Aziraphale clicked his fingers, and was fully dressed in an instant. Lingering dots of gold floating around his hands suggests he could smite, if he needed to. 

Crowley feels a tiny bit reassured by the light tingling this prompts where his... partners hands meet his still rest against his shoulder, and clicks out of his own pajamas. “The apocalypse. It’s beginning again.”

~

Although Crowley and Aziraphale did not know it yet, this is an opportune moment to mention that all this shenaniganary is being run by Dagon and Uriel, this time round. 

Michael was making being distraught into a full time job, in addition to her other full time job, that of managing all of heaven and generally being the only competent archangel. As a notably incompetent archangel, Gabriel has been sent to the timeout corner, that is, Dublin. Michael hadn’t wanted him to succeed, particularly, but failing to be thorough is a sin of the highest order.

Downstairs, Beelzebub is occupying themselves with an earthly reconnaissance/relaxation mission (they believe this to be the full version of R&R, and have a nasty habit of discorporating those who tell them otherwise, which seems rather contrary to both Rs. Not that anyone has the nerve to say it). They are also in Dublin, coincidentally. Hastur, meanwhile, has dug himself a nice grave in a bog for a bit of a lie down. 

With all the usual subjects accounted for, Uriel and Dagon it is. 

~

This time, the antichrist is born in the Royal Children’s Hospital of Melbourne, Australia. Why Australia? Because more places exist then England and America, although Aziraphale was not likely to appreciate the geographical diversity. There were entirely too many animals about that can cause a discorporation. He had never even /been/, before this! 

Outside, being watched by a gossipy tiger snake, Uriel took charge of the delivery of the Antichrist Two Electric Boogaloo. She snatched a wicker basket from Dagons hands and, with only a little divine intervention, changed it into a high tech incubator. She had been waiting all day, soothing the mother, and was a little irked that Dagon was late. There was biological waste on her violet suit. She was only meant to be insurance against meddlers, but honestly - Dagon looked like they were covered in slime, and humans were never kind to people of that low status. “They’ll never let you inside and we don’t have time for you to change. This needs to be subtle.” 

Uriel marched inside with the baby, giving every appearance of ignoring Dagons (hollow - they were the only person allowed to decorate their suits in slime) protest. Uriel was nothing if not vindictive, though, and security found themselves escorting a grubby person shouting about the apocalypse and seniority off the premises in short order. With the unerring step of someone who was most definitely cheating with a miracle or four, Uriel set off to find Rosemary Bennett. 

Ms Bennett had had twins, just that morning. Twin girls, both covered in blood and choking silence. Uriel strode in, with a name badge she had forged after a quick google search for ‘best doctor for baby’. Her smile was, unfortunately literally, blinding. “Hi, yes, I’m Doctor Robbins, let me help you”

She sweeps both Singer girls into a side room, looking at the name tags. Amarynth and Belladonna. If neither of them turned out evil, she’d eat Dagons hat. They were bound to have a couple. Both girls were in bad shape - if Heaven didn’t need a mother desperate to protect even the weirdest of children, they’d be crawling to the pearly gates in short order. Heaven does, though, so it’s miracle time. 

Belladonna, she decides. Belladonna is a good name, for the Antichrist. 

It is Amarynth, then, that gets a full blast of heavenly healing. Her red blood cells double, her lungs fill with air and face rounds out, just a little, as she smiles up at Uriel. The not-quite-archangel blinks, and the baby gurgles. It can’t be leaking, can it? Maybe she should have let Dagon do this. Still, never one to stop a bad plan in the making, Uriel dutifully swaps the Antichrist and the original Belladonna around. 

Lying in the incubator with its well worn, obviously heirloom blankets, the new Belladonna blinked blearily up at Uriel before rolling onto her side to stare at her sister. Before the angels eyes, cherubic blonde curls darkened to the honey colour of her sister. Convenient, thought the angel, and strode off pushing an incubator in both hands, to deliver two terribly names infants to their devoted mother. She put the last baby out of her head. Innocent souls go to heaven, after all. 

The last baby, in the Incubator marked with PROPERTY OF DAGON in spiky blue letters, is left alone for all of a minute before Crowley slithers into the room. He takes in the hellish basket and the distinctly not hellish infant. Bother, he thinks. Bloody buggering hells. Without really thinking about it, he picks her up, shuffling her to the crook of his elbow and poking at her, trying to figure out why Uriel hadn’t even bothered to try healing her. 

It had been quite awhile, since Crowley used his healing magic. He had once been very, very good at it - good enough to be the prime angelic healer - but that was Before. In the After, it was much easier to trick people into detouring to the hospital. A little fake chest pain here, a little looming mortality there, and suddenly you’ve got em lining up to be checked out. He didn’t acknowledge doing so, of course. Not even to himself. The baby giggles at him, waving her skinny little arms up, but the noise quickly turns into a wheeze. She needs a full heal, the works, something that can only be given out by archangels. Well. In for a penny, he thinks. 

Crowley slips his sunglasses into a pocket, and raises the baby until she’s directly in front of his eyes. She just keeps giggling, trying in vain to swipe at his face. He takes an unnecessary but steadying breath, and unfurls his blackened wings. A full archangels heal? He could do most of that, still. The baby reaches out her fingers for the feathers, and in that moment, Raphael thinks with every last inch of himself, _heal_.

Aziraphale slips in at the tail end, rather stealthily for him - or perhaps Crowley’s head was spinning, that could be it. He staggers, and the little girl begins to wail. Her lungs are doing better, then. That’s nice. Aziraphale takes the girl, depositing her back in the incubator with all the care he’d give a live bomb, and then turns to grab Crowley by the shoulders. “What did you do, Crowley?”

“Healed her,” muttered the snake, feeling very much like all his bones had taken a holiday. “She’s fine. Mostly.”

“But you aren’t!” the angel miracles up a comfy sofa, and firmly plops Crowley down onto it. “You stay right here, and I’ll go swap them back.”

Aziraphale is halfway out the door, muttering something that sound like “healing! in his condition!” when Crowley registers what he said. “No!” He shouts, standing up then regretting the decision. His wings pop out, instinctively, to keep him from making an embarrassing acquaintanceship with the floor. 

“No,” he says again. “The mother has probably already met the Antichrist. This one-“ he cast around, quickly, for a name that was both floral and hellish “-Lilith, Lily, she’s got-“ snck, went his knee, as he wobbled in place. Shut up, went the rest of him. “-more of me in her than I do, right now.” Crowley still hasn’t put his glasses back on. Aziraphale can see the determination in his eyes, and Crowley hates himself a little, for using his vulnerability as leverage, but - this might as well be his kid, now. “We can’t raise a normal child, Aziraphale. We couldn’t manage with Warlock, we wouldn’t manage with an actual, powerful Antichrist.”

Aziraphale blinked. Owlishly. It was cute, Crowley thought, in a very abstract way. For a second, the only movement in the room was Lily herself, trying to look between them like a very, very young spectator at a tennis match. “Alright,” says Aziraphale, at last. “But it’s you that gets to explain to Adam why we can’t introduce him to his sister.”

“Alright,” said Crowley. The three of them sat on the miraculous couch, in the dusty room, together. “Alright,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes self care is writing indulgent fic - finishing my finals this week and then more to come!


End file.
